


Need You So Bad

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coping & PTSD, EWE, F/M, HEA, Hurt/Comfort, No character bashing, Pining, Post-War, Two Way Journal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: While navigating life post-war, Harry thinks that everything is alright. However, when Hermione broaches the subject with him, he realizes that all is not well, and sometimes, finding your way through doesn't have to be done alone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 280





	Need You So Bad

**This fic was inspired by the lyrics from below, from the song, Need You So Bad by Def Leppard. I claim no ownership of it, I only used it as inspiration.**

**At first glance from the song lyrics and who I am as an author, this might sound like a smut fic. It is not. This was written for the June edition of Lyric Llama hosted in Harmony & Co. Thanks, Llama Del Ray.**

**Please be advised as well that I wrote it in two settings and it has not been beta'd by anyone other than grammarly.**

_There you go, midnight promises again, yeah_

_But they're broken by the dawn_

_You want to go further, faster every day, baby_

_But in the morning you'll be gone_

_And I'm alone_

_-Def Leppard_

* * *

Life after the war is hard, but life has always been hard for Harry and he doesn't stop to think about how odd it is until months later when he visits Hermione during a Hogsmeade weekend when she asks him how he's holding up.

"What are you talking about? It's fine; it's over." He can feel butterbeer foaming above his upper lip when she stares back at him. At first, Harry assumes there's something on his face, so he drags the back of his hand across his mouth, but then that same look is still there.

But then she's still peering at him over the edge of her glass, fingers gripping it so tightly that they've turned white and the glass is seconds from slipping away from her. Deep brown eyes that he's always thought were pretty narrow on him, and while Harry realizes that this look has fuck all to do with a butterbeer mustache, he doesn't know what it's for either.

There's a small lump—it's visible—when she swallows and carefully sets the glass down, still full. "Harry—" It's a whisper as she glances in both directions before sighing and coming round the table to sit at his side. Her hip is warm against his and her hand covers his, threading their fingers together, which takes him by surprise. "Just because it's over doesn't mean it's okay."

He blinks, not understanding, and leans back in the booth, still distracted by the way she taps her fingers between the gaps of his.

"Professor McGonagall chose to have all students sit with a therapist this year." She says, picking at her nails then and he misses the warmth of her, but he doesn't have the time to question why before Hermione continues. "It's been a lengthy process. There's so many students, you know?"

Harry does know that despite the fact that Hogwarts attendance is much lower than it's been in years before. It's a long road to mending the wounds, he's been told, and he knows it just as well as he knows anything else. "Therapy?"

She nods. "I would have thought the Ministry would require it, honestly. Especially for auror trainees."

"You mean to say, especially for _me."_ Harry isn't offended by it, but her face pales a shade and he shakes his head. "I don't need to talk about the war with anyone, Hermione. I wouldn't want to either. The only person I would _want_ to talk to is, well—"

It's loud in the Three Broomsticks, with voices climbing higher and glasses clinking together, but he's acutely aware of the feel of her pulse under his thumb where her wrist has trapped his hand.

"You." He finishes, not sure why it feels like such a task. This is Hermione, after all. There's nothing about him she hasn't seen, from the worst to the best, and anything that had fallen in between. "I wouldn't want to talk to a stranger."

A frown drags down the corner of her lips, and he's surprised by just how much he hates to see it. "There _is_ doctor-patient confidentiality…"

"That's not the point."

She doesn't like the answer if the furrow of her brows is anything to go by. "It's just that so many things have happened, Harry. Losing so many people—"

 _Sirius and Remus, most of all_ , is what she means but there are the others that he'll never see again, and for a moment, his stomach heaves and Harry thinks he might be sick.

"—in such a short amount of time is not something you can move past so quickly."

"It wasn't quick," Harry snaps even though he doesn't mean to, even though she flinches when he does. "It's been five months since Remus was killed, and nearly two years since Bellatrix killed Sirius."

But then he sees her eyes shutter, and her breathing labors, and it's the _name_ that slips out of him so easily that has her fingers curling and her nails nearly cutting into the wood of their table. No wonder she mentioned therapy. "I still hear her."

He doesn't know what else to do other than be quiet. Harry doesn't know what to say to that. Maybe that it's impossible because the witch is dead—killed before their eyes so there could be no mistake about it—but Hermione knows that. Or maybe that it will be okay because what _else_ is he meant to say?

Or maybe he mans up and says that he understands because he does, but none of those things happen and he's forced to see her eyes begin to water.

"It's why I still go to the therapy sessions. It's only mandated to attend three visits, but three visits—" Hermione gives the quietest sob he's ever heard, ducks her head down, and wipes her face with the back of her sleeve. "It's not enough. By the end of my third session, I broke a lamp in an accidental burst of magic and that hasn't happened since I was a child."

Without a word spoken out loud, Harry pays for their drinks—and considers taking hers, mug and all, with them—before draping his cloak around her shoulders and guiding her out. Her hand is still trapped in his as he guides her away from her classmates and toward a secluded spot where he knows there's still a bench hidden between the trees.

They sit together, huddled close with their hands still together, until she speaks again.

"I'm glad you would talk to me, but I really think you need a professional, Harry."

"Is it helping you?"

She's quiet then for a moment before she swallows. "Sometimes, I think so but then there are times where I think I might be drowning. Maybe that's part of healing."

Harry nods, but he wants to say that he's been drowning his entire life. That's not going to make Hermione feel any better though, and he wishes in the moment that he could tell her that the worst possible thing he can think of, is Hermione suffering the way he has.

He tells her that he probably won't see a therapist even though she quietly pleads with him, and Harry compromises by telling her that if he needs someone—that if all _this_ becomes too much, then he'll come to her.

It's not what she meant, but it's the best he can give.

And they stay there for a long time, until her cheek rests against his shoulder, and her breathing evens, and he's so fucking cold but can't cast a warming charm because any movement will wake her.

* * *

When Ron and Hermione broke up—and Harry has to go back several months to even think about it—it's quiet. _This is for the best_ , both of them say and their friendship goes on after a period of awkwardness as they figure out how to go back to before.

When Harry and Ginny break up, it's not entirely the same. Ginny's never been quiet. She's brazen, rash in one of the best sorts of way, and she's _loud_. It's not completely for the fact that she's hurt, and both of them know that. However, there are facts in the world, and after a recent visit with Hermione near Halloween, then a trip to his parents' grave site, Harry knows that he's been living for anyone but himself for the entirety of his life.

The realization does not come easily, or without a severe ache in his chest, and he has to pretend that nothing is on his mind while on a stakeout with a senior auror for field practice.

It's not because Hermione had said anything, but it does have something to do with her, and Ginny surely realizes it.

But she's jealous and _hurt_ because it's what she's supposed to be when you go through a break-up.

Ginny asks why and even though it's hard, he tells the truth that he just doesn't think he wants to be together anymore. She hates the answer that he still loves her, but he's not _in_ love with her and she _does_ hurl a Bat-Bogey Hex his way that he nearly lets land during a Hogsmeade weekend. He hates to do this in the village, and he does it privately, but this is something that has to be done in person, and no matter what, Ginny's argument wouldn't have gone unnoticed anyway.

When it's out of her system, and her cheeks are red, Ginny gives him a clipped nod, and cracks a joke so he knows it's going to be alright. "You're sure this time? Because the third time is not the bloody charm."

On that trip, he doesn't stop to see Hermione because he knows how it will look, and she has enough in her life so he steals a glance at her from the apparition point, and promises himself that he won't go another month without seeing her.

* * *

Despite his promise to himself, and the letters he routinely exchanges with Hermione up until she sends him a two way journal, he's still an auror in training.

And the training program is grossly unpredictable.

When December comes, he's on a training exercise in a location undisclosed even to him. Ron is with him, still giving him a hard time for the break-up with his sister, but he's Harry's partner and they stay quiet for the time they watch a suspected hideout for Death Eaters that fled after the final battle.

He has the journal though, and there's a message from Hermione.

_If you can't tell me where you are, can you at least tell me how you are?_

Harry nibbles the end of his pen before pressing the tip to the paper.

_I just really, really hate the fucking mountains._

* * *

It's another month after that where he's changing into a knit jumper in the designated room for male aurors when Ron pokes his head in the room and tells him that Hermione's going to have to wait.

As irritating as that is—his and Hermione's letters have grown more and more intimate lately—he can't be that mad since it sounds like Ron's accepting.

Doesn't mean he's not going to give Harry shit for it, but it's a start if Harry's ever seen one.

* * *

She tells him about his nightmares on a night that he's laying in bed in Grimmauld place. There's a candle lit, wax slowly trickling down it as he stays up to talk to Hermione in a way that he doesn't think he's ever spoken to her before. It's somehow more personal this way, hearing everything from her and realizing through her eyes, that perhaps he's not entirely fine at all.

_I heard her voice._

It's a recurring nightmare, Harry knows now, that Bellatrix looms over her and slices into her—Hermione's words, not his own—while questioning Hermione about the sword. Hermione tells him every time that she doesn't know how she didn't tell the truth.

Then she says that she knows it was for _him_ because it had to be done—because it was him and she would have done anything and his stomach curdles.

_She isn't there._

_I've looked under the bed three times. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? Me, checking under the bed for monsters._

Hermione means for it to be a joke, but by the way her pen had been pressed into the paper and the ink that bleeds out from it, it's not a joke at all.

_I wish I could be there._

Minutes pass without a reply and Harry starts to wonder if it had been the wrong thing to say.

_What could you possibly do if you were?_

_For starters, I could check under the bed for you. No one's likely to attack the Chosen One, are they?_

_Historically, I think that means they're more likely to do exactly that. But I wish you were here too._

He starts to write, but he's so much slower than her, and words appear again.

_Do you remember when we shared a sleeping bag when I couldn't sleep?_

Of course he does. Recently, he's thought about it more often than not, remembering how warm it had been to have her pressed against him.

_I do._

_I miss that right about now._

They've skirted a line so far, sometimes flirting, but sometimes he thinks it's just how the two of them were always meant to be really.

_I think I've missed that for a while._

_Really?_

_Is it so surprising?_

_Well—yes._

He wants to ask why, but decides to do it the next time he sees her.

Not that it matters much because Hermione apparently falls asleep immediately after that, but Harry stays awake for another hour, just in case she has another nightmare.

* * *

_I decided to try therapy. You could say you've worn me down._

_You have?_

_I have an appointment scheduled for Thursday morning. Is being this nervous normal?_

_Yes, it is. I'm proud of you, Harry._

_Then be proud of yourself too. I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for you_

* * *

Whether or not she notices the trend is unclear to Harry, but he sees it for what it is. They talk through the notebook during the day too, but it's at night when things begin to change. They skirt the line of what's friendship and what isn't and Harry feels like the only time they're allowed to be _more_ is after Hogwarts curfew.

He imagines Hermione in bed with the curtains pulled around her while sending scratched messages under the barely there light that forms at the tip of her wand.

By the time Easter hols come around, he's equal parts ready and nervous to see her. While his training doesn't allow for much time off, he's still able to see her at the Burrow on the night before and he's grateful it isn't awkward if anyone notices that the air between them has changed.

He thinks that Ron's known for longer than he lets on, and Ginny's probably known too, but she's moved on just as well.

It's a night that he spends with the Weasleys, happy to exchange stories while pretending it's like a happier Easter they've shared before. It is, and it isn't. Because there's a missing table place that once belonged to Fred, which stays empty and his hand from the Weasley clock is gone, but Harry knows it's on a chain tucked under his twin's shirt.

There's several things that Harry focuses on: the way everything has changed, the stories they tell, the friends and family they remember in the hopes the memories will be enough _(even though nothing is ever enough)_ but Harry notices one thing over and over and over again.

Hermione doesn't look at him when she thinks he's paying attention. He's gotten better at being subtle, and from the corner of his eye, he can see the way her teeth press into her lower lip, as though she's trying to figure him out. So, he does the only thing he thinks he can do, which is to not look at her in the hopes he'll be able to read her as well as he's always been able to while she's doing the same.

Hours pass, and Harry doesn't think he's learned anything at all.

* * *

She's still awake when everyone else is asleep, her legs tucked under her while she stares into the fireplace from her spot on the sofa. Flames lick out, lighting the room, and she drags fingers through her hair before giving up on untangling a knot that's formed.

Stepping into the room, Harry tucks his hands into his pockets as he comes to stand to the side of her. "Do you mind if I sit beside you, or am I supposed to use the notebook after a certain time of night?"

It's blunt, maybe even too blunt, if the red that comes to her cheeks are any indication.

Hermione nods to the space beside her, and he sinks into the sofa. "I thought you would be asleep."

He shrugs. "Hard to sleep when I know you're in the same house."

It's quiet, the way her breath catches before she turns to look at him. "How are you?"

"Don't," slips out of his mouth before he has time to reconsider it. "Hermione, please don't pretend all we do is have small talk and don't act like you don't know exactly how I am."

When she opens her mouth and closes it again, Harry assumes she's only taking her time to decide what to say, but she says nothing, and they're left in the silence again.

Even though he's thought about this more times than he's cared to count, Harry really doesn't know what he's supposed to do. They've changed, and he knows it—so Hermione certainly knows it too—but if he didn't know, he'd think she's avoiding it.

So, he asks.

And again, it's probably too blunt, but he only has a few hours before he has to report to the DMLE training floor, and he can't imagine going another month before he can see her again.

"Are you avoiding me because I've done something? If I've crossed a line, Hermione, tell me please."

She visibly swallows and takes in a breath, but she still doesn't look at him. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why are we—why are _you_ pretending nothing has changed?"

"I'm not sure this is a good idea." She breathes. "Think about it, Harry. I dated your best mate, isn't that awkward for you?"

Ron doesn't care, and he tells her that, but it's not what matters most to Harry. "Of course it's not. Nothing about it has ever been awkward to me."

"I ran the risk of ruining my friendship with Ron when we tried to date, and I don't want to risk that again."

The blow slams into him, and it hurts. "So, because it didn't work out with Ron, I don't even get a chance? That's shit, Hermione."

It startles her into looking at him, at least, and she looks like she might cry.

"You're my best friend, Harry. We've grown even closer in the last few months…" She sighs. "We've both broken up with someone recently, and it doesn't feel fair—"

He leans forward and curves his fingers around the back of her neck. "Nothing has ever been easy for us. There's no reason for us not to have something that is."

She still doesn't look like she believes him.

"Hermione, even if we try this and it doesn't work out—which I doubt will happen—it doesn't mean we'll never be friends again. I couldn't stand to not have you in my life, but I can't pretend that I only want to be your friend anymore."

"So, that's it? If I don't—"

"God, no that's not what I'm saying." He murmurs and drags the pad of his thumb over the ridge of her jaw. "I'm putting it all out there, Hermione. Whatever choice you make is yours. I'd never hold that against you."

Her knee bumps his when she scoots closer. "Are you sure about this?"

"I know you've never seen me think things through," Harry says, and her eyes crinkle when she laughs. "But I've given this a lot of though. In fact, I've been thinking of it since I first visited you in Hogsmeade, and 'Mione, I don't want to have two separate relationships with you anymore."

The smile she gives him is slow and it feels like an eternity waiting for it to come, but when it does, she reaches up to cup his cheek. Hermione her forehead to his and murmurs, "Alright."

He's imagined kissing her plenty of times—even while they were still students, but she doesn't know that—but fantasies have nothing on the real thing. Harry circles his arms around her waist while she leans into him and presses against him in the same moment.

There's a groan that rumbles in his chest when she bites his lower lip softly, trapping it between her teeth, tugging slightly and he thinks she's thought about this moment just as much as he has. "Harry," she nips his lip again. "We should be quiet."

It's easy to lose track of time, and he thinks he could spend the rest of the night snogging her. But eventually, Hermione drifts off while still halfway in his lap until it's time for him to go, with her lips still swollen and her cheeks flushed.

Until she stirs as he carefully lays her down. Hermione cracks one eye open and sleepily tells him goodbye. "Hogsmeade weekend is next week."

"I'll be there." After brushing his lips to her forehead, Harry steps into the fireplace, smiling as he can see her pull the covers over her head and Crookshanks curling up at her feet.


End file.
